


The Hollow Men

by gemjam



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, D/s, Forced Bonding, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the zombie outbreak comes, the Red Bull factory offers a safe haven, but it can't protect Mark and Christian from themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hollow Men

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to zeraparker@livejournal not only for the beta but also her encouragement and hand-holding throughout.

_Silence_

Mark pressed his ear against the cold wood of the door. Silence. He didn’t dare move though, didn’t quite dare breathe. He expected his ears to ring in the new found stillness but the entire thing had happened with so little noise. Those things didn’t groan or growl or let out bloodthirsty cries. They simply shuffled onwards, reaching blindly out in front of them with ragged hands, tired but determined.

The only noise had come from the security guards who’d gone out to investigate. Their screams had echoed off the outside of the factory and Christian hadn’t hesitated in shutting the place down. Mark wasn’t letting himself think about that right now. There were a lot of valuable things in that building, it turned itself easily into a fortress, but not quite quickly enough. One of them got in.

It moved sluggishly across the floor, feet scuffing the dull tiles with every step, but Christian still didn’t stand a chance. It grabbed him, hands clawing at his throat, mouth falling open with hungry drool. Christian stepped backwards, feet panicked and unsure, until he found his back bumping against the reception desk. His eyes went wide but he still didn’t scream, didn’t make so much as a murmur. Mark made sure he didn’t get the chance. As Christian’s hands went up to protect himself, pushing and fighting the creature away, Mark picked up one of the fire extinguishers, smashing it over the creature’s head. It went down with a sickening thud. Mark was trying not to think about that either.

They stared at the glass panels that lined the entrance. Supposedly they could withhold explosions, but Mark didn’t think they would have been designed with _this_ in mind. Others were already gathering at the windows, hands pawing at the invisible barrier, and Mark and Christian didn’t need to speak. Getting the fuck out of there was the only sane option.

Mark wasn’t sure who was leading who as they headed further into the factory. Somehow they ended up in Christian’s office and Mark stood at the door, ear pressed against it, listening. Silence. He wished that he could take some comfort in that fact.

 

_Bandage_

Mark looked across the room at Christian who was sat behind his desk as though he were about to start pulling up reports on the computer and lecturing Mark like just about every other time Mark had been in this room. Christian wasn’t usually cradling a bleeding hand protectively towards himself though. Mark stared at it. He pressed his ear back against the door and waited for a moment.

“Where’s the nearest first aid kit?” he asked, eyes focused on the wood of the door.

“Mark,” Christian warned.

“You’re bleeding,” Mark pointed out.

“I’m fine,” Christian replied. “We’re not moving around right now, it’s too dangerous.”

Mark turned to look at him again. “It’s not a bite, is it?”

Christian pressed his lips together, looking irritated. “No.”

“Because I’ve seen those movies,” Mark said. Christian gave a little huff as he got to his feet, moving towards Mark. “I’d hate to have to bludgeon you to death, mate.”

Christian gave him a look and Mark stepped back, allowing Christian to press his own ear against the door, listening intently. Mark watched his face closely, as though Christian’s reactions were more trustworthy than his own.

“No more got in,” Mark said.

“Yet,” Christian stated.

Mark shifted on his feet, waiting. He looked towards the large windows, seeing nothing but their own reflections in the dark glass. It felt strangely haunting, being watched by himself. He’d told Christian countless times that nothing good ever came from working late. Maybe he should have listened to his own advice.

The windows made him feel exposed and vulnerable, even though they were on the second floor, and he found himself moving backwards until he could press himself against the wall.

“I don’t think this is where we should be.”

Christian turned to look at him. His expression was serious and thoughtful, the same one he wore when he was trying to work out a tricky strategy call. “If we’re moving we need to think about the big picture,” he stated. “Somewhere we can barricade ourselves in. We’ll need food, water, amenities, somewhere to rest.”

Mark frowned. He was thinking they’d maybe be stuck here until morning. Christian sounded like he was setting up camp, preparing for the long haul. He sounded like he didn’t think rescue was going to come.

“Should we call the police?” Mark asked.

“I think they’ve probably got their hands full,” Christian dismissed.

“We don’t know...”

“We should head down to the lounge by the gym,” Christian interupted, intent on ignoring whatever denial Mark was about to come up with. “We should be able to hole up there for a few days at least while we take stock.”

“And then what?” Mark asked.

Christian turned to look at him and then cast his eyes around the room. “Look for something you can use as a weapon.”

They made their way through the factory, using the internal staircase rather than heading back through the lobby, armed with a table lamp and a hefty piece of modern art. If they’d have come across anything, Mark was sure they wouldn’t have stood a chance.

They entered the door through the corridor, barricading it behind themselves but leaving the other door through to the gym changing rooms open, making sure everything through to the gym was safely locked up. This left them with the toilets and showers, the changing area and the lounge, whose key features were the two large sofas, and a small kitchen area. The fridge was stocked full with Red Bull and branded water along with a few snacks.

Mark fetched the first aid kit from the changing room and ordered Christian to sit on one of the sofas before perching himself on the edge of the small table, opening up the kit. He looked at the contents and realised he had no fucking clue what he was doing. He moved his gaze to Christian’s hand, reaching out.

“Wear the gloves,” Christian told him.

Mark looked at him. “You said it wasn’t a bite.”

“It’s not,” Christian replied. “But let’s just be safe rather than sorry here.”

Mark extracted the latex gloves from the kit, pulling them on. The powder inside felt soft but the non-porous material still made him sweat. He rubbed at his forehead with the back of his arm before reaching out again. He wrapped his fingers gently around Christian’s wrist, pulling it closer. It was a mess, blood smeared all over, but Mark could make out the flap of skin. It sent a wave of nausea through him.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking up at Christian’s face. “Christian, this looks bad.”

“Your bedside manner needs work,” Christian replied dryly. He looked down at his own hand and sighed. “I’ll wash it,” he said. “Then you can put a bandage on.”

“I can wash it,” Mark offered.

Christian shook his head, pulling his hand gently back as he got to his feet. Mark watched as he crossed the room, turning on the tap. He stuck his hand underneath it, hissing in pain, and Mark felt his own body clench in reaction. If he couldn’t handle this he was never going to be able to cope if worse things really were coming. He tried to tell himself again that Christian was over-reacting, that they’d laugh about locking themselves away in this room when the police came knocking on the door in an hour’s time, but he couldn’t quite make himself believe it.

When Christian returned to sit in front of him again he looked pale and drained and Mark couldn’t help just staring at him for a moment.

“You didn’t get the bandage ready?” Christian asked.

Mark blinked, looking down at the first aid kit. “Sorry,” he muttered, picking through the contents until he found what he was looking for. He gently pulled Christian’s proffered hand closer towards himself, placing a piece of gauze carefully over the cut before taking out a bandage. He placed one end of the white strip against the heel of Christian’s hand, holding it there with his thumb as he began to wrap it around and around, securing the gauze in place.

With all the blood washed away it didn’t look quite so horrific, but Mark could still tell it was bad. It probably needed stitches, blood was starting to well at it again already, but Mark would just have to settle for wrapping the bandage as tightly as he could and hoping it would hold. He ignored the way that Christian occasionally flinched as he worked, concentrating only on winding the white material across Christian’s palm until the gash was gone and the queasy sensation in Mark’s gut started to ease slightly.

Securing the bandage he released Christian’s hand, pulling off the gloves. His hands felt smooth and powdery beneath them.

“Thank you,” Christian told him.

Mark gave a shrug, getting to his feet and crossing the room. He placed the gloves into the bin along with the wrapper from the bandage, staring down at them for a moment before he lifted his foot from the pedal and let the lid swing closed again, hiding the evidence.

“We should get some rest,” Christian suggested.

Mark looked over at him. There were so many things that he wanted to say but every one of them stuck in his throat. He glanced towards the open doorway to the changing rooms.

“I need a piss,” he stated, heading for the door.

 

_First Class_

Mark woke with a gasp from a dream he couldn’t remember. It left him feeling uneasy though, like there was something behind him, just out of his field of vision, and it meant him harm.

He rubbed at his eyes, looking over to the other sofa where Christian was sat up, looking back at him. His hair was messy, his shirt crumpled, and he looked like he hadn’t slept. He stared at Mark with a kind of detached concern and then he glanced towards the barricaded door before gazing blankly across the room.

Mark dragged himself into a sitting position, looking over the back of his sofa towards the door. He strained his ears but there wasn’t a sound to be heard. He looked back to Christian.

“Do you think we might be over-reacting, mate?”

Christian looked up at him. He pulled his phone from his pocket, turning it over in his hand. He seemed like he was considering something. “I called 999 about a million times while you were asleep,” he finally stated. “It just rang and rang. No one picked up. I think we should keep the door shut.”

Mark narrowed his eyes, trying desperately to comprehend the magnitude of what Christian was telling him. They were on their own. The words were so huge that they were almost meaningless. He let himself sink back against the soft sofa cushions, his mind wandering to the day before. He and Seb had been doing run of the mill simulator work, preparing for the race next weekend. They’d left together, chatting in the car park before climbing into their separate cars, casual farewells offered across the space between them. Mark wondered if it would have been different if they’d known what was going to happen.

He’d gotten all the way home before he realised he’d left his phone in the simulator room. He wasn’t an addict like some people he knew, he could live without his phone for a night, pick it up in the morning, but he’d been having a lot of important calls lately, things that could really shape the direction of his whole career, and he knew how important it was to keep the momentum going on these things. He took the dogs out for a long walk first, enjoying the late afternoon sun before he jumped back in the car.

Christian was the only person at the factory at that time of evening, along with the security guards starting the nightshift. Mark ran into him as he left the simulator room, phone in hand, and that was when they heard the screams. Mark should have left his phone where it was and stayed at home.

“Do you think Seb...?” he began, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to finish that sentence.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Christian dismissed. “He’ll have been 30,000 feet above the ground, enjoying the luxuries of first class by then.”

Mark nodded. The nagging thought remained. “How far do you think it’s spread?”

Christian gave a sigh. “There’s no use in speculating, Mark.”

Mark looked at him. Somehow it was the most damning answer of all. He got to his feet. “I think I’ll take a shower.” Christian just nodded, not watching as he walked away.

In the bathroom, Mark took out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he came across Seb’s name. He hesitated. Half of him was sure that this was all just some sick joke, that everyone would be pissing themselves laughing at the fact that he was actually _believing_ this. The other half knew that Seb wasn’t going to answer that phone. Calling seemed futile but not calling would encourage the seed of guilt inside him to grow. With a sigh he connected the call, pressing the phone to his ear. Each ring left him feeling more tense and hopeless until the recorded voicemail message kicked in, the worst case scenario.

“Hey mate, it’s Mark,” he began, trying to keep his voice level. “Just calling to see what’s going on over there. We had a bit of a crazy night on our end. You’ve probably heard about it. I don’t know. Me and Christian are in the factory, we’re fine. Christian banged his hand up, but...” He trailed off. This all seemed so pointless and he was embarrassed by the sound of his own voice in the small room. “I’m sure you’re fine too,” he said eventually. “Give me a call whenever you can, mate, and take care of yourself, yeah? I’ll speak to you soon.”

He hung up the phone, trying to remain reasonable, but of all the possible explanations for why Seb wasn’t picking up his phone, there was only one that really made sense in that moment. An empty dread crept up his spine, clawing away at his insides.

 

_Buttons_

Mark found some workout clothes in the changing rooms, sweats and a T-shirt, pulling them on and then grabbing an extra set for Christian and taking them through to the lounge. Christian was sat on the sofa, bandaged right hand resting idly in his lap while the fingers of his left fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He wasn’t having much luck. Mark hesitated for a moment, unsure about interrupting. Christian would hate for Mark to see him being weak. Mark understood that sense of pride all too well.

“Got you a change of clothes,” he announced as he came into the room, giving Christian a chance to compose himself. “I doubt you know your way around the gym in there so I thought I’d help you out, mate.”

Christian gave him an amused look. “Appreciated.” He continued to struggle with the buttons as Mark dropped the clothes down beside him.

“You need a hand with that?” Mark offered.

Christian shook his head so Mark simply shrugged, and dropped down onto the other sofa grabbing the TV remote from the table between them and flicking it on. He was greeted with nothing but static. Frowning, he flicked through the channels, finding only more of the same.

Christian stopped what he was doing and looked up at the TV. “I was afraid of that,” he murmured.

Mark turned to look at him. “What?” Christian didn’t answer, just blinked a couple of times and then focused his attention back on his buttons. Mark looked up at the TV again. “Do you think we lost the signal?” he asked, still cycling through the empty channels.

“I don’t think there is a signal,” Christian stated distractedly.

Mark continued with his attempt to find a channel, unable to believe what Christian was saying. If the media had fallen apart then the world really was over.

“Shit,” Christian muttered, the word gritted with frustration.

Mark sighed, flicking the TV off and sitting up. “Let me help you,” he insisted, moving over to Christian and sitting on the table in front of him. Christian waved his hand dismissively. “Mate, at the rate you’re going it’ll be another five weeks before you get that shirt off, and going on the available evidence, we may not have that long left,” he said, giving Christian a look.

Christian smiled, shaking his head slightly in amusement before dropping his hand down into his lap. “Fine.”

“I’ll even close my eyes to protect your modesty if it makes you feel better,” Mark offered.

As his fingers touched the first button, he let his eyes slide closed, working the small circle of plastic through the hole before slipping his fingers down to find the next one. He could feel the rise and fall of Christian’s chest with each breath, feel the slight heat radiating from his body. Mark didn’t know why the intimacy of undressing someone should be surprising to him, but that really wasn’t what this was about. As he opened the last button, Christian’s hands caught his wrists, stopping him from retreating.

“Mark,” Christian said. “Look at me.”

Mark opened his eyes, meeting Christian’s gaze, his expression grateful and intense in a way that Mark didn’t quite recognise. His grip on Mark’s wrists was light but demanding and Mark felt like he couldn’t move. He felt drawn in. His eyes flicked down, over Christian’s open shirt and exposed torso, landing on his trousers.

“Do you need...?”

“I think I can manage,” Christian cut in, releasing his hands. Mark pulled them back, watching as Christian got to his feet, towering over him. “I’ll go take a shower,” Christian stated, picking up the clothes Mark had placed beside him earlier.

Mark nodded, shifting backwards on the table to give him some space to move. As Christian left the room, something occurred to him. “Hey, shouldn’t you keep that hand dry?” he asked.

“I really don’t think it matters now, Mark,” Christian replied despondently as he disappeared from sight.

 

_Milton Keynes_

Mark laid back on the sofa, staring at the blank TV as he took another bite of his apple. Christian hadn’t mentioned rationing food yet, but Mark had a feeling that lecture was coming. He glanced over at Christian who was studying the emergency procedures folder he’d taken down off the wall.

“Do you think we should find a window?” Mark asked.

Christian looked up at him. “What good is a window going to do us?”

Mark shrugged, taking another bite of his apple. “See how bad things really are?”

“I think we should stay where we are,” Christian replied, turning his attention back to his file. “We’re safe here.”

Mark sighed. He considered the bite marks in his apple and then looked back up at the TV. “Do you really think the world’s ended? Really?”

Christian made an irritated noise, putting the folder down in his lap. “The world hasn’t ended, Mark, we’re still here.”

“But you think it’s bad,” Mark stated. “You reckon the shit’s hit the fan pretty hard out there, right?”

“Well, has Seb called you back yet?” Christian asked pointedly.

Mark stared at him for a moment. “How do you...?”

“I heard you,” Christian said. “It echoes in there.” Mark raised his eyebrows, looking away. “So, has he called you?”

Mark reached out for his phone, unlocking the display as though he might find a missed call there. He shook his head. “No.”

“You should turn it off,” Christian told him. “Save the battery. We might need it later.”

Mark looked up at him. “Later? It’s fucking useless now, why would we need it later?”

“Just turn it off,” Christian repeated.

Mark toyed with it in his hand for a moment. “So what _do_ you think’s going on out there?” he asked.

Christian sighed. “I think the emergency services are no longer operational, I think the media has officially disbanded and I think that evidence suggests this isn’t just a local crisis.” He looked up at Mark. “I think we’re on our own.”

Mark looked down at his phone, playing with the display. “That’s the spirit,” he muttered. He looked back up. “I still think we should find a window, try and work out what’s going on out there.” Christian didn’t respond. Mark slid further down on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. “I keep imagining it like a disaster movie, y’know, a wasteland, all fire and rubble and shuffling undead.” He looked back over at Christian. “Gives me the creeps.”

“Don’t think about it,” Christian told him.

“What else am I supposed to think about?” Mark asked. “I killed one. I listened while they tore apart...”

“Don’t think about it,” Christian said again, more insistently this time.

Mark studied him, his dark expression, and it made him feel cold. He backed off, putting his phone back down on the table and contemplating his apple. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Do you think Milton Keynes is still there?” he asked. Christian didn’t respond. Mark turned his apple around in his hand. “I think it is,” he stated. “All that concrete, I doubt a nuclear attack could make a dent.” He looked sideways at Christian to see him rolling his eyes. It made Mark smile. He placed his apple on the table next to his phone, turning onto his side and watching Christian’s expression of concentration as he continued to study the information in front of him.

 

_Crazy Frog_

Mark sat slouched on the sofa, his feet propped up on the table. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Christian studying the emergency procedures folder again as though it might suddenly tell him how to get out of this.

“You know, I think this is defined as torture in the Geneva Convention,” Mark stated.

Christian looked up at him, raising his eyebrows. “What is?”

“This,” Mark responded, waving an arm around at their surroundings. “Sitting in a windowless room, no routine, no clear passage of time. It’s how they break prisoners of war.”

“There’s a clock up there,” Christian pointed out, looking back down at his file.

“People go mad without sunlight,” Mark insisted. Christian didn’t respond. “I can’t stay in here, mate.”

“Then go,” Christian told him. “But I’m barricading the door behind you.”

Mark stared at him. “Like you did to the security guards?”

Christian gave him a dark look and then turned a page in the folder, studying the new information in front of him. Mark looked down. He’d wanted to ask what Christian would have done if Mark was out there too, if he’d still have locked the door, but he was pretty sure he knew the answer and it wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on. With a sigh, he got to his feet, beginning to pace.

“Can you do that in there?” Christian requested, gesturing towards the changing rooms without looking up.

“What, and risk getting locked out by Colonel Horner?” Mark bit back.

Christian shook his head. “Mad as a bloody box of frogs,” he muttered under his breath.

Mark almost snorted a laugh. He pictured himself as a tiny little frog under a heat lamp, jumping pointlessly against the glass of his tank. Crazy frog. He thought of Seb, his ridiculous impression, and he found himself leaning down to his phone, checking the display again.

“Have you not turned that off yet?” Christian asked.

“He might call,” Mark insisted. “Someone might.” Christian didn’t respond. Mark sat back down, looking at Christian. “Is there a procedure for being attacked by the undead in there?” he asked.

“No,” Christian responded.

“So why are you bothering?” Mark asked.

“I’m thinking,” Christian told him.

Mark looked at him for a moment. “What are you thinking?”

Christian hesitated. “I’m trying to work out a plan for a worst case scenario.”

Mark did laugh then. “I think this _is_ the worst fucking case scenario, mate,” he stated.

Christian shook his head. “Not yet.”

 

_Red Bull_

Mark stepped up to the dry erase board, placing four short, vertical lines on it with the green pen that sat on the counter.

“What’s that in aid of?” Christian asked.

“Marking off the days,” Mark explained, leaning down to the fridge and taking out a can of Red Bull. “Like a prison sentence.”

“We’ve been here five days,” Christian pointed out.

Mark looked at the board and then at Christian. “Are you fucking kidding, mate?” Christian frowned, shaking his head. “Fuck. See. I’m losing my mind in here.”

“Calm down,” Christian told him.

“I told you, it’s because I can’t see the sun,” Mark continued. He popped open the can, taking a long swallow as he looked up at the clock. “I want to go watch the sunset.”

“Fine,” Christian agreed, sounding thoroughly disinterested. Mark crossed the room, flopping down onto the sofa with a little huff. “You shouldn’t drink so much of that stuff,” Christian told him. “Drink some water. You won’t sleep.”

“Okay, dad,” Mark responded sarcastically, taking another sip.

“You’re the one who’s worried about going insane,” Christian pointed out. “Stimulant induced insomnia won’t help you.”

“I got a pretty good tolerance for this stuff,” Mark shrugged.

“Yes, I suppose you would,” Christian agreed, a tiny smile playing over his lips. Mark felt warmed by the flicker of emotion. Christian had been worryingly blank and pragmatic since they’d barricaded the doors and Mark wondered why he wasn’t concerned with the biggest problem of all. He had a feeling it had more to do with fear than oversight though.

“You know we’ll run out of food soon,” Mark stated.

“Yes,” Christian agreed.

“Then we’ll have to leave,” Mark pointed out.

“Yes,” Christian said again. “But then it will be a necessity, not a whim.”

Mark sighed, sagging against the sofa cushions. He took another sip of his drink, swilling it around the inside of his mouth so that the bubbles tickled his cheeks before he swallowed it.

“I’d open the door,” Christian stated suddenly. Mark looked up at him. “If you wanted to leave, I’d let you back in.”

Mark stared at him. There was almost a weakness in the statement and Mark hated himself for seeing it that way. He wanted Christian to stay strong, to tell him the rules and what was going to happen next. He didn’t want to be in this on his own and, if he was honest, he didn’t want to take responsibility. Maybe it was unfair of him to expect Christian to take that burden, but Christian was always so sure footed where Mark was content to let the stream lead him where it would.

Mark shook his head. “We go together.”

Christian met his eyes, seeming almost surprised at that response. Evidently he was expecting a mutiny and this was his way of not losing face. Neither of them was getting quite what they anticipated.

“Okay,” Christian agreed. “Together.”

There was a promise in that word, something unspoken but infinitely binding. The terms had been set and Mark felt like he might finally know what he was fighting for here.

 

_Christian Horner_

They turned off the lights in the lounge when they went to sleep but they kept on the ones at the back of the changing rooms, allowing it to filter through the open doorway, giving a fuzzy glow to the room. If they turned those lights off as well, the complete darkness would be dangerous. Mark wasn’t sure how unsafe he really thought it was outside their small domain, he was fairly confident the factory was sealed, but he had to admit that, when he woke in the night, he was glad to open his eyes and be able to see what was directly in front of him.

He was used to the low level of light the nights brought them now, like a grainy photograph that was slightly out of focus. He laid on his side, gazing across the small space to where Christian was sleeping. He was laid on his back, blanket pushed midway down his torso, his chest steadily rising and falling with every breath. Mark found it comforting, watching the steady rhythm, listening to the slightly rasping breaths, just shy of being a snore. Christian looked like the kind of person who would snore, Mark thought. He looked like the kind of person who would own a pipe and slippers.

He smiled fondly to himself, shifting slightly under his own thin blanket. They’d managed to make things quite comfortable for themselves really, the bedding a well appreciated luxury they’d found in the corner of the physio room. It wasn’t really cold enough to need the blankets, the temperature in the factory stayed more or less constant, evidence that things were still working as they should despite the apparent break down of the human race, but pulling a cover over themselves as they went to sleep added a touch of normalcy that they couldn’t help indulging in. It really was the little things that counted most when it came down to it.

Mark could just make out the six lines he’d drawn on the dry erase board, counting off the days, another attempt to carry on in a system that no longer existed. A day didn’t mean anything now. Mark still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the concept that this could be his life. His now, his present, but not his _life_. There had to be something beyond this room. There had to be something beyond this situation. Humanity was more resilient than this, wasn’t it?

His eyes drifted back to Christian, to that steady rise and fall. His mouth had fallen slightly open, his face relaxed, head lolling to one side. His hands lay on top of the blanket, the right one still wrapped in its bandage. Mark helped him change it on the odd numbered days. They only had three bandages left. Mark wondered if that would be a good enough reason for them to leave the room.

Mark liked winding the bandages carefully around Christian’s wounded hand. It wasn’t this weakness, this physical defect, in Christian that made him feel strong. It was the fact that this was the only useful thing he had to do, the only act that really carried meaning for him anymore, and so he revelled in it, in the way he gently cradled Christian’s hand in his own, in the concentration and care and responsibility he took in the act.

It was quite intimate really, Mark thought. It was the only physical contact they had, the only physical contact he had with anyone now. They sat across from each other on those two sofas as though there was a barrier between them, and sometimes Mark felt like they might as well be in different countries for all the use they were to each other. But then Mark would cross the line with his first aid kit and those gentle touches were starting to feel more like caresses in his mind.

He shifted under his blanket, closing his eyes against the warm sensation that was starting to build up somewhere deep down in his gut, somewhere lower down as well. It was only the lack of anything else to focus his attention on, that’s all it really was.

His eyes fell open again, tiredness far out of his reach. Maybe Christian was right about all that Red Bull. He sighed, staring across at Christian, the rise and fall of his chest, and he remembered how that motion had felt under his hands as he’d helped Christian unfasten the buttons on his shirt that first morning. He remembered the way Christian had looked when he’d opened his eyes, the fact that Christian had offered him permission to look.

And it was _that_ , the invitation, however subtle and perhaps misunderstood by Mark, that made his dick stir in his sweatpants, made his hips shift looking for shameless friction. He pushed his blanket aside and got to his feet, walking a little unsteadily at first as he headed into the showers, stripping his clothes off as he reached out to turn on the hot stream of water.

His hand closed around his dick practically as soon as he was under the warm spray. He sighed and bit down on his lip, feeling himself harden under his own touch. It felt good to have something immediate to focus on, something so seemingly vital. His cock swelled as images swam through his brain, images that seemed vague and unconnected until something began to take shape behind his closed eyelids with a throb of his dick.

Christian’s lips, slightly parted. Christian’s eyes, intense and commanding. Christian’s hands, strong without being rough. Christian’s fingers, gentle yet insistent. Christian wouldn’t need to overpower Mark in order to be in control. All he’d have to do, Mark realised, was say the word.

His relationship with Christian had always been on the cusp of something else; friends when they should have been professional, equals when they should have been observing a hierarchy. Mark had never been intimidated by authority figures and he never let himself get backed into a corner, but he had to admit that he listened whenever Christian spoke and that he always discussed rather than argued. Maybe there was something in that. Or maybe they’d been locked in that fucking room for far too long.

Mark didn’t imagine Christian’s body against his own, didn’t imagine Christian’s hand around his cock, nothing as gratuitous as that. They were vulgar images that fled his mind as soon as they entered. He imagined Christian’s calm voice, the tone that he’d use. He imagined Christian’s touch, subtle but loaded, guiding rather than offering Mark anything for free. He imagined Christian crowding him up against a wall, imagined the heat of him, the longing that would exist in the small space between them. He imagined words, breathy in his ear, encouragement to take what he wanted.

He panted, his dick throbbing almost painfully as he squeezed himself, his fingers gripping tighter and forcing a moan from his throat. His head hung forward, eyes closed against the water that fell down over his skin, making him feel like he was in another world, disconnected from himself and freed from his situation. He could feel it all welling up in him and he didn’t fight it, instead embraced it, imagining in his mind that this is what Christian wanted from him; his surrender.

Helpless moans spilled from his lips as he came, one hand going out to steady himself against the wall as it hit him, a wave of sensation that threatened to drown him faster than the water that cascaded down around him. For a moment he could have been anyone, anywhere, not a man stuck inside a box, a stale existence that would surely kill him before any of those creatures did.

He came back to himself with a bump, trying to keep his head in the pleasant mindset he’d discovered. There was something between he and Christian, an understanding and camaraderie if nothing else, and he forced himself to cling to that fact, coupling it with the warm and sated feeling his body still held.

He rinsed himself clean before dressing again in his sweatpants and T-shirt, trying to step quietly as he found his bearings back in the lounge, the dusky light making him squint to find his way around the coffee table. He flopped back down onto his sofa, pulling the blanket contently back over him. The sound of Christian’s voice made him nearly jump out of his skin, a spike of panic shocking his eyes back open.

“How many times do I have to tell you, it echoes in there,” Christian stated. “I can hear everything.”

Mark turned to him, frowning in the darkness. An apology sprung to his lips but he didn’t speak it. It didn’t seem necessary.

 

_Badminton_

Christian placed the first aid kit on the table, looking expectantly at Mark. This wasn’t how they did things and Mark felt slightly unsettled by the change in routine. He hadn’t realised how much he’d come to rely on the little constants to get him through this. He eyed the green bag on the table and then looked up at Christian, knowing already what this was but needing to confirm it. Christian gave a tiny nod, a moment of acceptance, and Mark got to his feet, taking his place on the edge of the table.

He pulled a fresh pair of gloves on, a precaution Christian still insisted upon, and then accepted the hand that Christian held out to him. He loosened the knot from the old bandage and unwound it carefully, all of his attention focussed solely on what he was doing. His favourite thing about this task was that it didn’t let him think about anything else. Today, though, the proximity of Christian made his mind wander to last night. Christian might have known what he was doing, but he didn’t know what Mark was thinking about while he did it. Christian had probably had a wank himself while they’d been here, or at least thought about it. He couldn’t begrudge Mark that. But if he wasn’t judging, why bring it up at all?

“It’s looking better, mate,” Mark said, trying to distract himself.

“Yeah,” Christian said critically, looking it over. “Maybe my badminton serve won’t be completely ruined after all.”

Mark gave a small breath of laughter, smiling at Christian. “I’d kill for a game of badminton right now,” he said wistfully, reaching for the fresh bandage. “Just _something_ to do.” He looked up at Christian again. “Couldn’t we at least open up the gym? I seriously need to work off some of this fucking energy.”

“I told you to lay off the Red Bull,” Christian responded.

“I think the Red Bull is the least of my problems right now,” Mark insisted. “I just need to _move_.”

He cradled Christian’s hand as he placed the new bandage in position over the wound, beginning to wrap it gently around Christian’s hand.

“It’s too open in the gym,” Christian told him. “There’s no single clear path for retreat, you could easily get cornered without realising it, not to mention getting surrounded if a hoard manages to get in.”

Mark stared at him for a moment. “Yeah, look on the bright side, mate.” He focussed back on the bandage. “You’ve really thought about this, huh?” he asked, voice quieter and more serious.

“I have,” Christian agreed.

“So you’ve thought about the big picture?” Mark asked, making a concentrated effort not to look away from what he was doing.

When the lights went out, Mark felt himself stop breathing. There was no gasp, no scream, no holding his breath to concentrate on every sound; he just _stopped_. He felt the fear crawling up his spine, more real than anything had felt in a long time, and his fingers closed around Christian’s wrist, holding him tightly as though he were a lifeline that could stop him sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

The darkness was complete and it was terrifying. It was the middle of the morning, sunlight would be streaming through the many windows of the factory, but in this internal room they might as well have been inside a cave. Mark’s gaze moved uneasily around the room and he expected that at any moment his eyes would get used to it, that his vision would adjust and he’d be able to make out shapes, but he knew in some resigned place deep down inside him that it wasn’t going to happen.

He felt vulnerable, in the middle of the room, his back to the door. He would hear them of course, would hear the barricades breaking down, a warning of what was to come, but that fact didn’t stop him feeling as though he wasn’t alone, as though something were in there with them, something bad. It was paranoia, he knew that, but his fears weren’t exactly irrational and so he found it difficult to dismiss them completely.

The lights faded up, stopping just as they’d begun to drown out the darkness so that everything was hazy and slightly unreal. Mark squinted, glancing backwards to the door to check the barricade before looking over Christian’s shoulder through into the changing rooms. He let out a shuddery breath as he realised that nothing was coming for him; everything was as it was. He looked up at the lights that seemed to be hovering somewhere between on and off, taunting him.

“It’s the emergency system,” Christian told him. “The main grid’s gone down.”

Mark looked at him, wondering how the hell he was supposed to sum up everything that was going through his head. In the end he reached out for Christian’s good hand, placing it against his chest so that Christian could feel his thundering heart. Christian’s gaze fell to the point where their bodies met.

“Is it a necessity yet?” Mark asked.

Christian lifted his eyes up to the lights and then looked towards the kitchenette and their dwindling supplies. “I think it’s time for phase two.”

 

_Bright_

Phase two was meticulously planned, so much so that Mark found it a little unnerving. But Christian liked strategies and contingency plans; working out all the possible outcomes to any given situation and reacting accordingly to them was what made him tick. He liked problem solving whereas Mark was the kind of person who was happy to wing it and worry about the consequences later. In a situation like this, he was glad to have someone like Christian by his side.

Christian’s hours studying the emergency procedures manual hadn’t been wasted. He talked Mark through the action plan, pointing out their route on one of the detailed maps that could be found inside the folder. There were two fire extinguishers located just on the other side of the lounge door. They would use these as weapons until they made their way down to the factory floor, arming themselves with tools from the mechanics bay which would be more practical in the event of combat. From there they would make a full and thorough sweep of the bottom floor, checking each room in turn and making sure all exits were secure. Once they were certain the floor was safe they would move upstairs and repeat the exercise again. It sounded exhausting, not to mention mind-numbing, but Mark had to admit that it would give him peace of mind to know that he’d checked every nook and cranny for monsters.

“Do you understand?” Christian asked, searching his face for any flicker of confusion or disinterest. Mark simply nodded. He didn’t know what to say under such scrutiny. “Maybe I should go through it again,” Christian stated, looking down at the map.

“I got it,” Mark insisted.

Christian looked up at him, studying his face, and then he gave a nod. “Stay close to me, follow my lead and be vigilant. Things might need to change at a moment’s notice.”

“I can take information on board at 200 miles per hour, mate,” Mark replied. “I think I can handle this.”

Christian looked at him meaningfully. “You carry this much adrenaline with you when you’re sitting in a race car?”

Mark flicked his eyes down to the map, swallowing hard. He still got nervous on every race weekend, still couldn’t stomach food in the days leading up to a Grand Prix, necessitating his physio make smoothies for him, but when he was behind the wheel it was a different story. The butterflies of anticipation turned into something else and the adrenaline dropped back down to a level he could handle. When he was strapped into that car he became in control, of himself and of the raw power beneath him. There was no familiarity or professionalism to help him keep his rising panic levels down now.

“I’ll stick close,” he agreed.

Christian nodded, looking down at the map in front of him with a heavy sigh. Mark could see the doubts clouding his mind, the fear that he’d forgotten something or made the wrong call on an important decision. He ran a hand through his hair and then turned to Mark.

“No heroics.”

Mark couldn’t help but smirk. “Do I look like a hero to you, mate?”

Christian just stared at him for a moment before turning to the door. “Let’s go.”

As they began to take down the barricade, Mark tried not to notice the fact that his hands were shaking, slippery with sweat, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. There was nothing out there, he told himself. He was the one who had spent the last week insisting that it was safe to leave, but now he was faced with the prospect of that door opening he wasn’t so sure anymore. When it came down to it, he was happy to let Christian do the honours.

He watched Christian’s hand as it slid to the door handle, fingers gripping tightly as he twisted it. He pulled the door back a couple of inches, peering outside as though he expected something to rush at him from the shadows. After a few moments he opened the door further, checking again down the corridor. Once he was happy he stepped outside, Mark following closely behind. They took the fire extinguishers from their stand, right where the manual assured them they would be, and began the journey down to the mechanics bay, their first stop.

Mark made a conscious effort to make his footsteps light, even the rustle of his clothing seeming to make too much noise in the quietness of the factory corridors. He could feel his ears straining, an animal instinct attuned to danger, but he heard nothing beyond his own shaky breaths and the movements the two of them made as they walked. He held the fire extinguisher alertly, muscles tense and ready for action, his eyes constantly scanning around for signs of movement. When they reached their first destination without incident, Mark felt himself let out a tiny sigh of relief.

He looked around as Christian began to open clanking drawers, pulling things out. The large room was spotless and shiny, like the set of a photo shoot rather than a functioning garage. By the time the attack came, the mechanics would have been long gone, finished for the day, all tidied up and heading back to their loved ones. Mark spared a moment to wonder what had happened to them. Had they made it back home safely and of those who had, how many were still safe now?

“We need to stay focussed,” Christian told him.

“It’s creepy,” Mark stated, turning around slowly as he viewed the room. “Not the marauding undead, the... emptiness. It feels like it should echo in here.”

“Mark,” Christian said, irritation clear in his voice. Mark turned to face him. “Don’t get distracted. Gear up and let’s get out of here.”

Mark moved over to where he was, looking down at the wrenches and screwdrivers on offer. As he watched Christian he understood why he’d put on the trousers he’d been wearing on the day of the attack rather than the sweatpants they’d both been using lately, the belt and pockets making handy holders for extra weapons. Mark looked down at his own sweatpants, held up by a drawstring, and realised he’d have to carry everything he wanted in his hands. He picked up a weighty spanner and a long socket wrench, deciding that would have to do. He looked up at Christian who was checking out the room with purpose. After a moment he gave a nod.

“Let’s go.”

It was a time consuming process and one that had Mark constantly on edge. Each new door they approached had the potential to hold untold terrors and every time Mark reached for a door handle the images would flash through his brain, taking him back to that evening in the lobby, the thing that he’d killed. The thought of being driven to that again sickened him. He wasn’t sure that he could do it. He wasn’t sure that he couldn’t.

The lobby was their final destination on the lower floor. Mark skirted around the edge, looking at the body on the floor, blood spilled out from its caved in skull. The brightness from the windows made him squint and shy away even further, everything so stark and painfully real. The factory had already been shut down for the night when the attack happened, all the blinds drawn shut, and so this was the first real natural light they’d faced in a week. It hurt.

Mark felt tears welling at his eyes as he looked up at the windows, not sure whether it was the sunlight or the emotion that was causing it. The day was overcast but the clouds seemed to reflect the sunlight, spreading it over the whole sky. Mark had expected hoards of mindless undead banging at the windows but instead he saw nothing. A small smear of blood against one of the panes of glass, that was it. Somehow it was even scarier to not be able to see what was really out there.

“We need to dispose of the body,” Christian said, his tone not betraying the slightest hint of emotion. Mark turned to look at him. “It might be contagious,” Christian continued. He glanced at the stairs. “We should check upstairs first, then we’ll work it out. We’ll need protective clothing, a way to destroy it.”

“The autoclave,” Mark said, his own voice worryingly blank. “We can cremate him.”

Christian nodded, looking impressed. “Good idea.” It was approval Mark could live without.

By the time they’d finished sweeping the top floor, it was starting to get dark and Mark was exhausted. He opened the blinds in the boardroom, trying to stave off the coming darkness. The emergency lighting in the factory gave him the creeps, casting more shadows than anything else, giving the monsters a place to hide.

He sat down on the edge of the table and stared out of the window, looking across the fields towards the city of Milton Keynes. There was black smoke rising somewhere in the distance but other than that he couldn’t see anything amiss.

“Shouldn’t the end of the world look more... final?” he asked.

“We should go deal with the body,” Christian responded.

“Not yet,” Mark dismissed. “I’m looking.”

Christian sighed but sat down beside him. “What were you expecting?” he asked. “Fire and brimstone?”

“I don’t know,” Mark responded. “Just... _something_. There’s not even any of them out there.”

“They’re out there,” Christian stated. “But there’s no blood for them here.”

“Don’t they eat brains?” Mark asked.

Christian shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t intend to find out.”

Mark nodded. “That sounds like a plan.”

 

_Mobile_

They decided to keep the lounge as their base, barricading themselves in every night, but during the day they made use of the rest of the factory. They’d taken fresh supplies back to the room, making sure they had enough to live off if they became trapped again, but Mark liked to have his breakfast in the canteen, gazing out of the large windows that overlooked the car park.

He ran laps around the factory and worked out in the gym, but it didn’t help his restlessness as much as he’d hoped it would. He missed the great outdoors. He missed taking his dogs for a run through the woods, riding his bike along the country paths by his house. Being so close to the outside but not being able to touch it was almost a crueller punishment than being in that windowless box.

Mark kept his phone off now, but he still switched it on once a day, when Christian wasn’t looking, to check for messages. There never were any. If anyone was out there, they certainly weren’t talking to him.

Mark sat in the boardroom, fiddling with his phone as he considered the view across to Milton Keynes. He’d signed contracts in this room, had technical discussions, team meetings, meet and greets with fascinating people. It was a room that reminded him of his team, of what they’d built together, and he couldn’t stand the thought that it was all over now and this building was going to be left to rot with him withering away inside it.

He flicked through the call history on his phone, the reminder of the days before the attack making him feel even more alone. He’d called a mate in Oz, spoken to Ciaron about preparations for the next race, discussed what time he could be at the factory with Christian and then, while his phone had been sat forgotten in the simulator room, he’d missed a phone call from Maranello. Mark tried not to feel guilty about that fact. It was only casual talks, he hadn’t said yes to anybody yet, but he still felt like a traitor for even considering it. Now he’d never know where his heart really was because he’d never get a chance to accept any of the offers he’d found himself faced with.

And then there was Seb. Mark wondered what had happened to him. Maybe he had made it back to Switzerland unharmed, maybe he was holed up in the mountains somewhere without a signal but with some pretty girls to keep him warm and plenty of food piled up around him. Seb was just the kind of guy who would get that lucky.

He tapped the screen on his phone, connecting the call. As he listened to the distant ringing, he knew the only thing he would connect with was Seb’s answerphone. Maybe that was why he was calling; he wasn’t sure he could face talking to another human being right now.

“Hey mate,” he told Seb’s phone. “Me again. Just checking in. Not much to report really. Me and Christian are still stuck in the factory. We’re safe. We’re... coping. I think.”

He gave a sigh, wondering who he was trying to make feel better with his lies. He didn’t honestly expect Seb to pick up these messages, so that meant he was only lying to himself. He shouldn’t be deluding himself, he should be using this freedom and privacy to get his head straight. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To finally be able to say what was on his mind and not feel like he was being judged for it.

“Sometimes I look at Christian and when he doesn’t know I’m watching he taps his foot up and down,” Mark stated. “Y’know, in that way he always did when he was... anxious? I was going to say scared, but I don’t think he’s scared. I don’t know what’s going on in his head.”

Mark got to his feet, running a hand through his hair as he stepped up to the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass.

“I don’t even know if _I’m_ scared,” Mark admitted. “I’m bored. Totally stir crazy. But scared is... something else. There’s nothing to be scared of. We’re just all alone in this big building, trying not to go insane or think too hard about...”

He trailed off. Would it be better if he was fighting for his life on a daily basis, if he could see the whites of his enemies’ eyes? He doubted it. Neither option really offered him anything he could describe as a _life_.

“But we’re okay,” he concluded, hating how hollow the words sounded to his own ears, his breath fogging up the glass in front of him in a way that seemed almost accusatory. He couldn’t see clearly. He was tainting everything around him. “We have a safe place, we have supplies. If help is coming, we’ve got the resources to wait.”

Help isn’t coming though, Mark told himself. He hung up the phone and turned it off again.

 

_Simulator_

Mark stared into the simulator room, a reminder of something he could never have again. He loved racing, loved speed, it was in his blood, and it was hard to imagine how he could ever find anything to fill that void.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Christian at the end of the corridor. “I don’t suppose this emergency generator powers the simulator?” he asked.

“It’s not considered a necessary resource in the case of emergency,” Christian agreed, walking towards him.

“Shame,” Mark sighed. He stepped into the room anyway, looking over the controls.

Christian followed him, picking up two radio packs and holding one out to Mark. “Why don’t you get in?”

Mark looked at him. “It doesn’t work.”

Christian shrugged, still holding out the headset to Mark. “Visualise it. That’s what you drivers do, isn’t it?”

“That’s Seb’s game,” Mark dismissed. “I get out there and do.”

Christian just looked at him steadily, a patience in his eyes that told Mark he wasn’t going to give up until Mark took the radio. Mark sighed, accepting it from his extended hand and walking around to the simulator. He looked inside it, hesitating. The simulator was a poor copy of a racing car really. Technically it might be indistinguishable in terms of reactions and handling, but there were no g-forces to fight against, tossing you around and threatening to rip you open.

He looked back over at Christian who was sitting himself down behind the controls, looking at the screen as if he was setting Mark up for a hot lap. He looked up at Mark.

“Where do you want to go?”

Mark stared at him for a moment. “Are you finally losing it, mate?”

The faintest smile graced Christian’s lips. “Play along.”

Mark shook his head slightly, switching the battery pack on the radio on and slipping the headphones on. He climbed inside the car as Christian walked around to help secure him in. The belts were tight across his body, a sensation that always offered him comfort rather than making him feel trapped. He studied Christian’s face, a picture of concentration, as he pulled the straps against Mark’s body, making it hard for him to breathe.

“Okay?” Christian asked through the headset. Mark just nodded, his body strangely tingly all over. “Great,” Christian said, stepping out of Mark’s line of sight. “Where are we racing?”

“Silverstone,” Mark told him. It was the track he and Seb had been practicing on the simulator the day of the attack, the next scheduled race on the calendar. It was a familiar one for Mark too, one close to home and close to his heart.

“Sounds good,” Christian agreed. “Close your eyes. See the start/finish straight ahead of you.”

Mark did as he was told, taking a deep breath and remembering all the little details; the feel of the track beneath his wheels, his favoured line into the first corner.

“Okay,” Christian prompted. “Throttle and clutch ready for the lights, everything set up.”

Mark flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, his hands and feet having a memory of their own to prepare for this moment. His heart began to beat a little faster, his focus narrowing right down, and he could almost believe that this was real.

“Five, four, three, two, one, go,” Christian counted down, voice firm and unwavering, just like it always was over the radio.

Mark responded instantly, each movement perfectly choreographed as he imagined himself speeding down that straight towards Abbey and into Farm Curve. He could see it all so clearly laid out in front of him, imagine the speeds as it all rushed towards him.

“Good?” Mark asked, wanting to prompt Christian to keep talking to him.

“Perfect getaway,” Christian told him. “No one can touch you.”

The words made Mark flush, made that giddy anticipation prickle at his skin. It was like being touched, a sweep of fingertips over his flesh, raising up goosebumps in their wake. His breaths came out slightly ragged as he saw the sweep of Copse Corner ahead of him.

“Keep it smooth,” Christian encouraged. “Every movement of that steering wheel should be deliberate, perfectly executed.”

Mark nodded, breathing out, his focus slipping away from the circuit in his mind second by second. There was something about Christian’s voice, the calm nature of it, the certainty, the instructions, that seemed to alleviate Mark from all responsibility. Christian was in charge. Mark had never been so grateful to be a passenger.

The thought of the steady acceleration of Hangar Straight made him feel dizzy. He tried to level off his breathing, his head lolling back slightly, heavy and clouded.

“Everything’s ahead of you, you’re leaving them all behind,” Christian told him. “See yourself in the lead. See the prize in front of you. Earn it.”

As Mark came up on the start/finish line he dropped one hand from the steering wheel, turning the clasp on his seatbelt slowly, but it still made a distinctive click. The restraints fell away from him and he pressed the palm of his hand against his crotch, feeling himself swell at the touch. He bit back the noise that threatened to rise in his throat, imagining Christian’s lips pressed close to that microphone on his headset, moving with each word.

“Don’t accept your limits,” Christian told him. “Not in this room. This is where it’s safe. This is where you can try something a little bit dangerous and see if it pays off.”

Mark panted, dropping his head down in an attempt to steady himself. His hand was already sliding inside his sweatpants though, grasping his hard cock with a gratified little noise in his throat.

“I know what you’re doing,” Christian stated calmly.

“You always do, don’t you, mate?” Mark responded, trying to sound casual, but the words were gritted and strained. He felt ashamed and yet he felt strangely accepted. Somehow he knew this outcome wasn’t a surprise for Christian.

“Is this your prize?” Christian asked.

Mark let out a sob, his free hand pushing down the sweatpants so that his cock sprung free, leaking with precome. Was this a prize? In some ways it felt more like a punishment. Whatever it was, he needed it, needed this from Christian as much as he needed it from himself.

“I meant what I said,” Christian told him. “No one can touch you. Not while I have your back.”

Mark came with a cry, banging his head back against the headrest as his body struggled to writhe within the confined space of the simulator. He let out a series of whimpers, his eyes opening to look down at the mess he’d made. He felt dirty and animalistic. He felt honest.

By the time he climbed from the simulator, Christian was gone.

 

_Silver_

Mark sat on the stairs in the lobby, staring at one of those things as it walked repeatedly into the glass front of the building as if it didn’t know there was a barrier at all. It never reacted, just stepped forward, banged dully against the glass, ricocheted off, and then tried again. It was strangely hypnotic.

Mark had a large wrench clasped in his hand, the shiny silver glinting in the sunlight. He carried it everywhere with him, just in case. He liked to tell himself that he wouldn’t actually be able to use it, that he still had too much humanity for that, but a glance to his left showed him the bloodstains on the floor from that thing he’d killed. They’d disinfected it with everything they could find, but they couldn’t quite shift the accusatory discolouration of the smooth lobby floor.

“Mark.”

Mark turned, looking up the stairs to see Christian stood on the landing.

“What are you doing?” Christian asked.

Mark shrugged, turning back to the window. “Keeping an eye on things.”

He listened to Christian’s footsteps on the stairs as he descended, making the hairs on the back of Mark’s neck stand up. He wasn’t sure where the tiny thrill came from, maybe just Christian’s increasing proximity. When Christian sat down beside him, Mark felt himself sigh.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Christian asked.

“Doing what?” Mark asked, furrowing his brow as he continued to stare at the creature. Its skin was grey, drool falling from its mouth, its eyes clouded like cataracts. “I don’t think it can see me,” Mark stated. “I think it can _sense_ me.” He gripped the wrench tighter with his fingers. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Let’s go inside,” Christian suggested.

“Do you think if it does that for long enough the glass will give up?” Mark asked, some kind of sick fascination threatening to make him smile. “Do you think it will start to crack from the repeated stress? Everything falls apart.”

“It’s fine,” Christian insisted. “This place is designed to withstand explosions.”

“Explosions,” Mark repeated. “Not this. You chip away for long enough and even the mighty will fall, mate.”

Christian shifted uncomfortably beside him. Mark could tell that he was hitting a nerve. His morbid mood made him tempted to pick at it.

“Also,” he stated. “We are inside.”

Christian got to his feet. “Come with me.”

Mark looked up at him. “If it gets in, I want to know.”

“It won’t get in,” Christian told him. “And you’re the one that’s drawing it here. Take away the prey and the hunter will look elsewhere.”

Mark considered him for a moment. “That sounds very philosophical. Did you get that from a fortune cookie?”

“Let’s go,” Christian said again, more insistent.

Mark nodded, looking at the creature one last time before getting to his feet. Maybe Christian was right. When he returned later that day, the thing was gone. Mark found that he couldn’t really take any comfort in that fact though. He liked being able to look the monster in the eye. Right now it could be anywhere.

 

_Obedience_

The nights had a different feel to them since the lights went out. Instead of the bright lights from the back of the bathroom filtering their way through, they lived by the emergency lighting, their lives a constant dullness within their little den. Mark found it suffocating, throwing his blanket off.

He could tell that Christian wasn’t asleep. Somehow he could always tell. It was like he had a sixth sense where Christian was concerned now. They hadn’t spoken about the incident in the simulator, but Mark could tell it had changed things. The dynamic had shifted and there was a hint of a promise in the air between them. Or maybe it had always felt like this. Mark had a hard time remembering anything from the fabled time of _before._

Two weeks now, two weeks and one day. Such a short space of time for his entire life to feel so unreachable to him. Maybe he was a prisoner of war now, broken down and conditioned into this new identity, but Christian didn’t feel like his captor. Those things out there, they were his captors, his jailers and interrogators and hangmen. Christian was his co-conspirator, the one who was going to finally set him free.

He shifted restlessly on his sofa, looking across the room. “Christian?”

“Yes?” Christian responded, not opening his eyes.

Mark hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to initiate this, to face it head on. “Can...” He sighed.

“Say it,” Christian encouraged.

“Can I touch myself?” Mark asked, feeling his cheeks heat up in the darkness.

“Are you asking for my permission?” Christian asked.

“Yes,” Mark said honestly.

There was a pause. Mark watched Christian closely but he made no uneasy movements, nothing about his demeanour looking unsettled.

“Okay,” he finally said. “But only through your pants.”

Mark frowned. “What?”

“Touch yourself through your pants,” Christian told him. “Until I say otherwise.”

Mark felt a powerful throb of arousal through his body. His hand fumbled downwards, pressing on his half-hard cock through the soft material of his sweatpants. He bit down on his lip, looking up at the ceiling as his eyes flickered closed. He made a tiny noise in his throat, shuffling further into the soft cushions beneath him before pressing his hips upwards into his touch, making another noise.

“Feel good?” Christian asked.

“Mmmm,” Mark hummed, his head falling to the side as he opened his eyes to look at Christian.

“Yeah,” Christian agreed, his own eyes still closed, his body seemingly unmoved.

“Do you want to...?” Mark invited.

“Not right now,” Christian dismissed.

Mark wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Would he do this to himself later, when he was on his own? The next time this happened, would he be in the mood to join in? The thought of Christian touching himself and thinking of Mark made a tiny spark of pride swell inside him. It was the thought of Christian touching _him_ that really made Mark’s cock twitch impatiently against his palm though.

“Please,” he begged, pressing down harder.

“Don’t ask,” Christian told him. “Be patient. I’ll tell you when.”

Mark nodded as he groaned deeply, a mixture of arousal and frustration. He had to admit that he’d always been a fan of instant gratification, not understanding the point of denying his body what it wanted. This was about more than base instincts and desire though. This felt like a trust exercise and Mark knew that if he wanted to pass he had to do what he was told. Mark had asked a question by initiating this and now Christian was looking for his own answer in the way it all played out.

He craved Christian’s voice again, the way it had fed right into his ear in the simulator, tickling his senses. He looked over at Christian as he palmed himself through his sweatpants, gripping his cock hard and squeezing it. Christian’s breaths were continuing to come evenly, his eyes still contently closed, and Mark wondered if this was a test too. He whined, humping upwards into his hand, feeling his self-control slipping rapidly away. He wanted the connection, it was what he craved, and this felt too much like being pushed away.

“Okay,” Christian said, as though reading his mind. “Pants down. Finish yourself off.”

The only way Mark felt able to express his gratitude was to moan wantonly, shoving his sweatpants down past his hips and not caring that he was exposing himself to Christian. He wrapped his hand tightly around his leaking cock, stroking rapidly over his length as his other hand went to grasp his balls, making everything tighten painfully before it all released in a moment of pulsing pleasure. He moaned appreciatively through it, pulling lazily at his cock through the aftershocks until he shuddered with a tiny cry, his sticky hands stilling against him.

He rolled his head to the side, looking over at Christian. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t reacted in any way, eyes still closed and chest still steadily rising and falling. Mark watched as he reached out a hand, pushing the box of tissues across the table towards Mark. Mark couldn’t help but give a breath of laughter.

“Thanks, mate,” he said, reaching out to tug a tissue from the box and clean himself up.

“You’re welcome,” Christian told him. “I look after what’s mine.”

 

_Podium_

Mark stood at the trophy case, the sun streaming through the back of the glass cabinet and making the contents glitter like something almost mythical. Mark had a memory tied up with each of these trophies, even the ones he hadn’t won himself. Sometimes the losses were more memorable anyway. The heart had a tendency to cling to sadness; it left deeper scars.

The wins though, Mark remembered not necessarily the emotion but the moment. He remembered each podium, the people who stood alongside him, the crowds and the team and the moment when he clasped the trophy in his hands and held it above his head in victory. Emotions were transitory, tainted by memory, but the facts remained and that was always what Mark remembered most clearly. Eight times he’d won a Grand Prix; every other time he hadn’t.

He didn’t hear Christian approach but he wasn’t surprised when he stepped up next to him, looking over the trophies instead of meeting Mark’s gaze. Mark followed suit, turning his own attention back to the glittering silverware. It would dull now, he thought, no one to clean it.

Christian placed a hand absently against the glass and Mark couldn’t help but think that it would leave a mark. Then he realised how close they were. He never realised you could be so physically close to someone without touching them. There was no bandage on Christian’s hand now so they had no reason to touch at all. The wound was mostly healed, only requiring a small adhesive dressing that he was able to apply himself. It meant that Mark had no excuse for crossing that invisible line they’d drawn across the room, staying on his own sofa and gazing across in a way that could probably be considered wistful. Pathetic.

Mark thought something had changed that night, shifting, but instead of the shared act bringing them closer Mark felt further away from Christian than ever. He thought that he’d passed a test, but Christian remained unmoved by the sight of him, showed no inclination towards repeating what they’d done, and certainly offered no indication that he thought of Mark as anything more than the person who was there. That was fair enough, Mark thought, he could live with that label, so long as Christian reciprocated with the rest of it.

“The greatest distance between two points is who a man is and who he wants to be,” Christian stated, eyes fixed on the trophies in front of him.

Mark frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean, mate?”

Christian’s mouth turned slightly downwards. “My father used to say that.”

“Did he?” Mark asked, looking into the cabinet. “Cheery bloke, wasn’t he?” Christian didn’t respond. Mark turned back to look at him. “What does it mean?” he asked again.

“No one’s ever really happy with who they are,” Christian replied with a shrug, seeming uncertain all of a sudden. Mark couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t an emotion that suited him. He looked over the trophies, the wins dominated by Seb, and couldn’t help but wonder if Christian was having a dig at him.

“I’m happy,” he stated, more than a little defensively.

Christian turned to face him, his eyebrows raised. “You’re happy?” he asked doubtfully.

“Well, alright, I’ve had better days, but with the way things worked out? Yeah,” Mark responded.

Christian snorted a laugh. “So if it all ended now, like this, and it’s going to, it would have been enough?”

Mark looked into the cabinet again. There was more he wanted, so much more, of course there was, but there didn’t seem like much point dwelling on it. “There’s more to life than trophies, mate,” he stated.

Christian looked at him carefully for a moment. “Who said I was talking about trophies?” And with that, he was gone.

 

_Winter_

“Everything’s going crazy,” Mark professed to Seb’s answerphone as he sat down on the edge of the table in the boardroom. “I think we were saner when we were locked in that room. In there it was just winter of our discontent, out here it’s a total bloody mindfuck.”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I just, I sort of depend on him. He’s reliable. He’s unflappable. That’s probably a lot of pressure, isn’t it?”

He put his free hand behind himself, leaning his weight against it as he gazed out of the window. “We crossed a line though. A figurative line. I wish he’d fucking touch me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing these were words he’d never speak if he thought for a second that Seb was going to hear them. He didn’t want to think about what that meant.

“It scares me when he gets morbid,” he admitted. “That’s selfish of me, I know. I want him to be in charge, stay strong, it’s what he does.” He opened his eyes again, looking out at the view. “I gave him something that I feel like I should want to take back, but I don’t. He can keep it. He can keep it if he uses it.”

He sighed, sitting forward and playing with the drawstring on his sweatpants. “He did what I asked and I did what he asked so I don’t understand why we’re at this stalemate. Sex is easy though, isn’t it? It’s the emotional bullshit that complicates things. I don’t think this has anything to do with sex.”

 

_Race Of Champions_

Mark thought that the luxury of having a shower should make him feel better, more human, but somehow it just served to highlight how far he’d come from civilisation. It felt like a lie, the fresh sensation he experienced when he stepped out from the shower at complete odds with the situation he found himself in. Everything felt broken down, corroded away, so why was he bothering to keep up appearances?

He stepped through to the lounge, still towelling his hair dry, the fresh clothes sticking slightly to his damp body. The door was barricaded for the night, Christian laid out on his sofa reading a book. Mark sat down opposite him, ducking his head down as he rubbed the towel over the back of his hair.

“Can I ask you a question?” Christian asked.

The words took Mark by surprise. It wasn’t that the sound of Christian’s voice was unexpected, it was the meekness of his tone that made Mark pause before lifting his head, looking curiously across from beneath his towel.

“Go for it, mate,” he invited.

Christian saved his place in the book with his finger, looking thoughtful for a moment before turning his head to look at Mark. “Will you tell me the truth?”

Mark pulled the towel from his head, frowning. Christian had never had to ask Mark that before. Was it a matter of trust that had stopped Christian from touching him, that had kept the lines clearly drawn between them despite the obvious steps they’d made? Vulnerability from Christian was something that Mark wasn’t used to, even in as subtle a form as this, and Mark wasn’t sure that he liked it.

He finally nodded, meeting Christian’s eyes. It didn’t feel like there were any words that he could say that could match the sincerity of a simple gesture like that.

Christian looked away, silent for a moment longer. “Had you decided what you were going to do next year?”

The words sounded casual now, Christian’s tone much more relaxed and conversational, but Mark could feel the dark undercurrents threatening to drag them both away.

Mark gave a shrug. “Not really,” he replied honestly.

Christian nodded. He didn’t say anything. Mark watched him for a moment and then rubbed the towel over his hair again. When he straightened up, he tossed the towel over the top of Christian’s sofa so that it landed on the tiled floor of the changing rooms.

“Did they make you an offer?” Christian asked.

Mark looked at him. “Who?”

Christian raised an eyebrow at him, looking unimpressed. “Who do you think?”

Mark leaned back against the sofa cushions. He shook his head. “We had some talks. Nothing was officially put on the table.”

“Yet,” Christian muttered.

Mark tilted his head at him. “What is this?” he asked. “If I say I wanted to go to Ferrari are you going throw me out into the wild?”

“Of course I’m not,” Christian dismissed condescendingly.

“Then why are you asking?” Mark challenged. “Is this a test?”

Christian looked at him. “A test?”

“I’m not playing fucking games, mate,” Mark told him.

Christian narrowed his eyes, studying Mark. “What games do you think I’m playing?”

“Is this why you won’t touch me?” Mark asked. “Because I haven’t signed my life away to your precious team for another year? Because I haven’t proved myself?”

“You didn’t ask,” Christian stated calmly.

Mark blinked at him, failing to connect the dots. “What?”

“You didn’t ask me to touch you,” Christian pointed out.

Mark frowned. “Yeah, but...” He trailed off. He couldn’t believe that Christian _didn’t_ understand his intentions. “I thought I gave you a pretty clear invitation.”

“You only asked me to talk to you,” Christian stated. “You didn’t even really ask for that much.”

Mark shook his head, making an exasperated gesture with his hand. Christian just stared levelly back at him in an infuriating way that made Mark feel about two inches tall and he hated the fact that he genuinely couldn’t tell if this was a mindfuck or if Christian’s supposed chivalry was real. He wished, just for once, he could work Christian out.

With a sigh, he laid down on his sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Christian had set up a makeshift reading lamp with a torch and a clamp, but he turned it off now, making the room murkily dark again. He placed his book on the table and shuffled down on his sofa, tugging at his blanket. Mark listened as he let out a heavy breath, sounding as exhausted as Mark felt.

As he pulled at his own blanket, straightening it out so he could pull it over himself, Mark wondered if Christian really would see it as a betrayal if he’d gone to Ferrari. Mark hadn’t wanted to leave Red Bull, he still thought of it as his team, but he had to admit that being courted by Ferrari was flattering and flattery was something that, as he’d discovered lately, he definitely wasn’t immune to. Was that enough to make him sign a contract? He guessed he’d never find out now.

There was something else though, another tug that took him towards the prancing horse. Six world champions on the grid, and Mark wasn’t one of them. Most of the time he felt invisible and the rest of the time he just felt like a disappointment. People looked at him like he should have done better, like he hadn’t lived up to his potential. Those voices didn’t bring him down as much as his own self-doubt did though. Maybe a change of scenery, a fresh start, could finally have put all that to rest.

“Do you remember Brazil 2010?” he asked.

Christian looked over at him, a deep frown settling over his face. “Yes,” he finally stated, the word slightly guarded.

Mark nodded, looking up at the ceiling. “You gave me ten minutes,” he stated. “Before you went down to celebrate with Seb.”

“What was I supposed to do, Mark?” Christian asked, a disappointment in his voice like he expected better than petty jealousy from Mark.

Mark shook his head. “I’m grateful,” he assured him. “For those ten minutes. You didn’t have to.” Christian stayed silent but Mark could practically feel the tension draining off him. Mark pulled his blanket slightly higher. “I was a mess. It took me two days to remember that, for that whole ten minutes, when you sat on the floor with me, you’d held my hand. By then it seemed like it was too late to say thank you.” He turned to look at Christian. “So thank you.”

Christian nodded, his expression seeming touched. “I look after what’s mine.”

Mark nodded back, his gaze settling on the ceiling again. “You keep saying that.”

“I was going to get you that championship,” Christian told him.

“I can’t have that now,” Mark responded. “Give me something else.”

“Okay,” Christian agreed, a note of finality in his voice that Mark wasn’t quite sure how to read.

 

_Worship_

Mark woke to the feel of the sofa shifting beneath him, a sensation almost like a landslide. He opened his eyes to see Christian sitting on the edge of his sofa, his thigh pushing firmly against Mark’s hip. Mark blinked at him, the tendrils of sleep still clinging gently to him, and he wondered if he was dreaming. His dreams since he’d been here had been dark and bloody and violent though, nothing like this, and Christian’s weight against him was too solid and real.

Christian’s reading lamp had been turned on and while the beam wasn’t pointed in their direction it still meant that Mark could see Christian’s face more clearly, the thoughtful expression that made his forehead crease slightly as he considered Mark.

“Good morning,” he finally said, his eyes focussed on Mark’s lips.

“Morning,” Mark returned.

He voice was thick with sleep and he cleared his throat, feeling self-conscious. Christian’s eyes flicked up to meet his own and then he reached out his hand, brushing his fingertips lightly over Mark’s hair. He wasn’t touching him, not really, but he made the hairs brush against Mark’s scalp which in turn made him shiver. He felt his lips part, felt his body begin to react, shifting with the heat in his gut.

Christian watched his face carefully as he repeated the action and Mark could tell that he was looking for something. Consent? A surrender? A begging need? He brushed his fingers over Mark’s hair again, the follicles seeming to tickle all the way down Mark’s spine as a sigh escaped his lips, and Mark could tell Christian had seen whatever he was looking for. His eyes scanned down Mark’s body, hungry now, as though it was his for the taking.

Christian’s hand slid over Mark’s cheek and down to his neck, fingertips pressing down, feeling for his pulse. Mark knew that it was racing and the feel of it thudding against Christian’s touch made him feel exposed. It also made his cock twitch, made his hips shift impatiently. Christian leaned his thigh more insistently against Mark, giving him less space to fidget.

His fingers slid away and then he reached down for the hem of Mark’s shirt, peeling it upwards to reveal his stomach. Mark half sat himself up, giving Christian space to strip the T-shirt from him completely. As he fell back onto the sofa cushions, Christian placed his hand on the centre of Mark’s chest, stroking downwards until he reached his navel and then trailing his fingers back up again. His eyes remained focussed on what he was doing as he used a single fingertip to circle Mark’s left nipple, making him draw in a breath as he forced himself to remain still.

Christian ran his hand downwards again, tracing the shape of his body, following every line as though he were trying to learn him, covet him. Mark tipped his head back against his pillow, breaths coming out heavy and audible as Christian touched him with something that was close to curiosity, as though he wanted to see how Mark would react. When his ministrations finally drew a moan from Mark’s lips, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Mark’s sweatpants and pulled downwards.

Mark lifted his hips, closing his eyes as the material was tugged away from him. They didn’t wear underwear anymore, there wasn’t exactly a handy supply in the factory and there didn’t seem like much point anyway. Just one more layer they’d been stripped of by their situation.

Mark’s cock throbbed in anticipation, but he should have known the payoff wasn’t going to be that easy. Instead, Christian touched Mark’s hips, his thighs, fingertips circling back to caress the sensitive spot behind his knees before trailing down his shins, following the curve of his calves. He rubbed Mark’s feet, explored the arch, pressed at the bones of his ankle.

There was something in his touch, his motives, that Mark read as almost childlike. It was as though this was something that he’d wanted to do for a long time, as though Mark were some kind of prize and he were determined to appreciate every inch of him in case he never got the chance again. Mark was touched by the notion, flattered by Christian’s attention, even if he wasn’t sure he really believed it. It was easy now, under Christian’s fingertips, to say that this moment had always been coming, that this was that unidentifiable thing they’d always been on the cusp of. In reality it was far more likely that this was just a social barrier they saw no reason not to crush. This was what nothing left to lose felt like.

“Touch yourself,” Christian told him.

Mark made a noise of disappointment. That wasn’t what they’d been building up to here and he felt cheated. He reached his hand downwards though, grabbed his cock in a fist and began to jerk himself off in quick, unashamed movements. He was hard, throbbing, precome leaking from the tip, and he knew that it wouldn’t take him long. One of Christian’s hands was still stroking over his knee in a rhythm that should have been soothing but that Mark just found a distracting irritation to the harshness of his own touch.

He jumped when Christian’s other hand wrapped around his wrist, forcing him to move more slowly. He shuddered, groaned, allowing Christian to control him like a puppet, making him touch himself more smoothly, more sensually. Mark took the opportunity to play his fingers over the head, teasing the sensitive skin with each slow, deliberate pull. He felt simultaneously closer to and pulled away from his orgasm. He lost focus, let Christian guide him, let himself simply feel and react. He found a strange kind of honesty inside himself, a connection to his own pleasure, and as it built steadily inside him, he found himself taken over not in a crashing, screaming wave but in a pulsing, drifting sensation that felt more like gentle raindrops than a storm but was no less powerful.

Christian’s fingers slid from his wrist as he came, standing up from Mark’s sofa while Mark was still moaning, his hips lifting from the cushions. Mark carried on touching himself absently as his cock began to soften, making the aftershocks twang through his body like electric shocks. He could hear Christian moving around the room, could hear the sound of the door to the hallway softly closing, and he knew without opening his eyes that Christian was on the other side of it.

 

_Enthusiasm_

Mark found himself making an effort, over the next few days, to make himself look available. It was completely unnecessary, neither of them had anything else to do, not even the slightest hint of a distraction. They had far too much time to stare at each other and wonder at each other’s motives, and so Mark tried to make himself as transparent as possible. He met Christian’s gaze with unflinching desire, shamelessly ran his eyes over Christian’s body, stared at his hands in what he hoped was a clear invitation to touch. When that didn’t work, he starting walking around with his top off; the niceties of society seemed long behind them now and if Christian liked Mark’s body as much as his exploration of it would indicate, surely the tactic couldn’t fail.

“Why don’t you just take your pants off as well?” Christian asked one night as they stood in the bathroom together, Christian examining his freshly shaved face in the mirror.

“I think your razor might be blunt, mate,” Mark told him, looking over the sore skin.

“Yes,” Christian agreed. “I’m trying to make it last as long as I can though. Not many replacements to be playing with.”

“You could just rock the natural look like me,” Mark suggested, appraising his own beard in the mirror.

Christian looked over at him, eyes narrowing slightly for a second. “I don’t think it’s really my cup of tea.”

Mark frowned at his reflection, wondering if that was the reason Christian hadn’t kissed him. He eyed up the blunt razor on the edge of the sink.

“I’m serious,” Christian told him. “About the pants. Take them off.”

Mark looked at him and then looked down at his sweatpants, resting low on his hips. He’d made sure they were loosened enough to show the slightest hint of pubic hair, hoping that it might catch Christian’s attention. He looked back up at Christian who was still examining his own face in the mirror, offering no indication as to whether the instruction was genuine or not. Mark decided to go with his instinct, or at least his shameless desire, the slightest push at his waistband making the pants fall down around his ankles. He was already half-hard just at the suggestion.

Christian stepped away from the mirror, pointing his finger towards the changing rooms and nodding his head. Mark freed his feet from the pants and walked naked through the doorway, aware of Christian following behind him. Anticipation tickled pleasantly over him, making his cock swell.

“Stop,” Christian told him as he started towards the lounge. He stilled in his tracks, waiting for further instruction. Not risking another miscommunication, Christian simply placed his hands on Mark’s hips, guiding him to stand in front of the full length mirror.

Mark gazed at his own naked body almost unseeingly. He recognised it, but at the same time he didn’t really recognise it at all. He seemed slimmer, his muscles not quite so toned. He expected to be fatter, flabbier, he wasn’t eating the right kinds of foods, but he was eating less, nothing to give him an appetite and the finite stock of food not inspiring him to eat more than he felt was strictly necessary. He looked unattractive to his own eyes and the thought of Christian’s study of his body the other day suddenly made him want to shy away in shame. Is that what Christian was trying to tell him? _This is what you look like. Why should I want to touch that?_

He tilted his head away from his reflection, casting his eyes downwards in embarrassment. Christian ran his fingertips along Mark’s shoulder, down his arm, and Mark couldn’t help but flinch away.

“Look,” Christian told him. Mark shook his head. “I want you to watch.”

Christian’s hand slid over his hip before his fingers were wrapping around Mark’s cock. Mark gasped, feeling it fill again so quickly that it made his stomach flip over, his skin tingle. He whined, unable to stop his gaze from travelling back to the mirror. Christian was standing half-behind him, watching his own hand in the mirror as it moved firmly over Mark’s cock, pulling and squeezing. Mark felt himself relax almost instantly at the sight, the want in Christian’s eyes more than enough confirmation that Mark hadn’t quite reached the label of repulsive yet.

He watched the way Christian touched him, watched his own hips pushing into his tight fist, the sight of his own glistening precome making him lick his lips. Christian grunted, a pleased almost animalistic noise that spoke to something inside Mark, made him give it up. He forced his eyes to remain open through his orgasm, ribbons of come splashing onto his abdomen and over Christian’s fingers to fall stickily to the floor; evidence.

Christian squeezed his cock a final time, a half-smile playing over his lips and a dark look in his eyes. He stepped away, a kiss placed against Mark’s shoulder almost as an afterthought before he disappeared back into the bathroom. Mark listened to the taps running, his eyes falling down to his come on the floor. He nudged at it with his big toe, smearing it against the tiled floor, before following Christian into the bathroom.

 

_Wildcard – Writing on the body_

Mark drew a line on the dry erase board, another day added to his tally. Twenty-seven. He placed the lid back on the pen with a sigh. As he went to put it down, Christian reached out, taking it from his grasp.

“Shirt off,” he instructed.

Mark frowned but did as he was told, trying to turn around to face Christian. Christian shook his head, pushing him against the coolness of the board, smooth against Mark’s body. Mark heard the lid click back off the pen.

“Don’t move,” Christian told him.

Mark nodded his consent, his breath hitching as he felt the soft nib of the pen pressing against his shoulder blade. Christian began to write, each letter slow and deliberate, but Mark couldn’t work out what they were. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. The sensation was enough; the tickle of the pen, the wetness of the ink in the half-second before it dried against his skin. He closed his eyes, leaning heavily against the dry erase board with boneless abandon as he let the feel of the pen permeate right to his core, as though Christian were marking some intrinsic, untouchable part of him.

The click of the pen lid being replaced took him out of the moment, opening his eyes a crack as he hazily instructed his body to straighten itself up. Before he had a chance he felt Christian’s lips against his back, kissing at certain words that obviously held resonance for him. Mark felt his body stir in response, giving a soft groan to express his appreciation at the intimacy of the moment. Five kisses later, Christian was spinning him around and dropping to his knees in front of him.

Mark stared down at him, unable to comprehend what was happening, even as Christian pulled down his trousers, even as he tugged Mark’s cock into full hardness and wrapped his lips around it. He licked and sucked in a way that seemed urgent, almost scared, and Mark could barely appreciate what he was doing, his mind still trying to catch up with how this was happening. He’d always pictured himself as the one on his knees. His whole world view felt tilted upside down.

Just as Mark was on the brink, Christian pulled his mouth away, getting clumsily to his feet and falling against Mark as his fingers replaced the work of his lips and tongue. He jerked Mark off, his face buried in Mark’s neck, and whatever words he murmured as Mark came were muffled by Mark’s flesh and drowned out by the guttural moan that he couldn’t quite hold back. Christian’s fingers forced their way into the space between Mark and the board, touching his words a final time before he moved away.

Mark waited until Christian was settled on his sofa for the night before he made his way through to the bathroom, craning around in the mirror to see what Christian had written across his flesh.

_Mark Webber_  
6 years  
10 poles  
8 wins  
I did my best for you 

Mark frowned at the words, scrawled across his skin like an apology. There was so much guilt there, so much regret, and it made Mark feel uncomfortable, being made to carry that around. It didn’t quite feel like being handed a burden though; it felt like a secret shared and a promise made. That was something Mark could accept.

 

_Conservative_

Mark timed his moment carefully like he did many things lately. They knew each other’s routines inside out and so he could always choose the perfect moment to garner the response that he wanted. Being caught in the act was easy when he knew exactly when Christian was going to walk through that door.

They touched often now, the memory of Christian’s hands practically burned across his body like he imagined the memory of his own body was burned across Christian’s brain. Sometimes Christian closed his eyes, fingertips following the gradients of Mark’s flesh, but Mark could tell his thoughts were on Mark and nothing else. It wasn’t escapism. He was trapped in the moment more firmly than anyone Mark had ever met.

After he made Mark come, he always retreated though, finding an excuse to leave the room before he’d retire alone to his own sofa, the small space between them feeling like a dangerous chasm. The touches weren’t sordid, even if it seemed like they were designed simply to make Mark come. There was so much truth in the way those fingers moved, in the paths they travelled, and Mark couldn’t stand the way that Christian would move away from him every time, leaving him more alone than if he’d never been touched at all. He wasn’t clingy, wasn’t a cuddler, but human contact was the only thing that made him feel alive now and every time it ended he felt a little deader inside.

And so it was no coincidence that Christian walked into the room as Mark was pushing the small table out from between their sofas. He picked up the cushions from his own sofa, arranging them on the floor to make a bed before adding his pillow and blanket. It left just enough room for Christian’s cushions to be placed beside them, eradicating all space between them.

He didn’t look up at Christian, didn’t offer any kind of explanation. He simply performed his very deliberate task and then he took a leaf from Christian’s book and left the room.

He took the familiar route to the main lobby, glancing out of the large windows before he jogged up the stairs and headed straight down the hall to the boardroom. He closed the door behind him, walking over to the windows as he waited for his phone to switch on. He was on his last bar of battery life now. It would be time to say goodbye to this little luxury soon.

“Hey, mate,” he greeted Seb’s answerphone. “How’re things going on your end? It’s all settled down a bit here. I think.”

He sighed, playing with the catch on the window. He couldn’t see the harm in opening it, they were on the second floor and he’d close it again before he left, but he wasn’t sure if he dared.

“Hope you’re having more fun than I am,” Mark stated. “I mean, things with me and Christian are...” He swallowed, letting his hand drop away from the catch. “Sometimes I don’t really know what he’s getting out of it. Not mind-blowing orgasms like I am, that’s for sure. I think probably I’m just a distraction. There’s not much else to do locked up in here, I might as well fuck with Mark.”

He shook his head, turning away from the window and dropping down into one of the chairs around the table. “That’s not it,” he said. “You know what Christian’s like. A little bit stuck up, a little bit repressed, a little bit self-important. He likes order. He doesn’t like chaos. The whole fucking world is just chaos now, isn’t it? So he’s taking control of the one thing he can in his life. He’s taking control of me.”

Mark folded his arm beneath him on the table, resting the side of his head against it. He closed his eyes, his other hand pressing the phone to his exposed ear. “I don’t mean that he’s using me,” he muttered. “Or maybe he is but I’m using him too. I just want to feel. Just... feel.” He angled his face closer to the table so that his breath was captured hotly in the space between the smooth surface and his mouth. “Sometimes I wish he’d hurt me,” he admitted. “I know that he won’t.”

He lifted his head with a heavy sigh, forcing his eyes open as he looked behind himself towards the window. “Are you outside?” he asked. “I wish I was outside. I wish I could just... breathe.”

He got up and wandered back over to the window, put his fingers on the catch. He didn’t try to open it, even though some tiny part of his brain told him to just fuck it all. What was he really bothering to stay alive for anyway?

“We’re safe here though,” he said, hating the way the words sounded laced with regret. “We’ve got food to last us a while longer yet. We’ll be okay.” He clenched his jaw, emotions welling up that he didn’t know what to do with. “I’ll speak to you soon, mate.”

As he hung up the phone, he told himself he wasn’t going to cry. He wondered if that was really enough to stop him.

He didn’t return to the lounge until it was starting to get dark. Christian had moved the cushions of his own sofa down onto the floor beside Mark’s, creating a shared bed between the two sofas. He was already under his blanket, reading that book of motorsport history he was working his way through, the little homemade reading lamp set up behind him. Mark smiled, turning to close the door and set up the barricade for the night.

He followed his usual evening routine and then climbed beneath his blanket, his body so close to Christian’s that he swore he could feel the heat from him. As he settled himself against the cushions, he moved his foot over until it touched Christian’s ankle. Christian didn’t move, didn’t flinch, and Mark smiled to himself. Human contact. The one tiny thing that might be able to keep him sane.

 

_Surprises_

Mark glanced at his tally of days on the whiteboard as he headed out of the lounge. Thirty-one little lines. He wasn’t quite sure why he bothered to keep them anymore. Days didn’t mean anything now; neither did the hours or the minutes or the seconds. They weren’t living in any kind of structure that required time. They weren’t living in any kind of structure at all.

He made his way to the canteen, letting himself through into the kitchen and opening up some tinned fruit. It was sickly sweet, kept fresh by the syrupy juices, and he grimaced as he forced it down. He liked sitting by the large windows that looked out over the car park. He could see his car from here and it made him feel intensely homesick. It wasn’t far, he was sure he could make it, but then what? He had no idea what he’d do if he actually left this place. He had no idea what he was going to do if he stayed here.

He finished his breakfast, his stomach unfulfilled and hungry for something real, staying where he was for a while longer and staring out of the windows. It had been a long time since he’d seen one of those things, mindlessly banging itself against the windows. Were they even still out there? Was there anything left to hide from? But if they were gone then so was the rest of humanity or they would have seen a sign by now. _So this is how the world ends,_ he thought morosely. _Not with a bang, but with a whimper._

He knew that it was a death wish, but he just wanted something to happen. Surely this version of not existing was worse than death. His routines and intimacies that he shared with Christian could only take him so far. He was nearing the bottom of the murky well and he knew all that was left for him was the abyss. He wasn’t scared of reaching it so much that he was scared he’d never take the leap and he’d be stuck down the well forever.

 

_Orgasm denial/control_

“You should take a shower,” Christian suggested.

Mark was sat in the canteen, feet up on the table while he flicked through a magazine he already knew cover to cover. He looked up, raising his eyebrows. “Had one this morning, mate.” He pulled the collar of his T-shirt away from his body and angled his nose into the gap, breathing in. Still fresh enough. He looked back at Christian. “You trying to tell me something?”

“Take a shower,” Christian said again. “I’ll meet you in the lounge.”

It was early evening, too early to lock themselves in for the night, Mark thought. He got to his feet though, tossing the magazine down on the table before making his way through the warren of hallways to their little den.

As he showered, he tried to imagine Christian’s motives. He was usually more spontaneous than this, grabbing Mark in a way that seemed to express that he couldn’t help it, or creeping his fingers beneath Mark’s clothes whenever he happened to be close enough. There was something more exact about this, more thought out and deliberate. Something in the waiting made anticipation creep up the back of Mark’s neck. It felt like Christian was making Mark prepare himself, turn himself into an offering.

He went through to the lounge with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Anything else would have seemed ridiculously superfluous. He wasn’t surprised to see that Christian had put the barricade in place for the night. He was stood over by the counter, his back to Mark. When he finally turned, he looked Mark up and down before taking a couple of steps towards him.

“You won’t need that,” he stated, reaching out and pulling the towel loose from Mark’s body before tossing it carelessly through to the changing rooms. He stepped away again. “Lay face down,” he instructed, gesturing vaguely to the bed as he made his way back towards the counter.

Mark could feel his cock stirring already, even though the way Christian was ignoring him made him feel uncomfortable. He liked the way that Christian looked at him, and when Christian wasn’t looking at him, it made him feel insecure. As he headed over to the bed, he wondered idly when he’d lost his sense of self. He’d never needed anyone else’s permission to feel good about himself before.

He arranged himself face down on the cushions and blankets, trying not to think about how vulnerable it made him. His legs were apart; wanton, he thought, slutty. He shifted, rubbed his hardening cock not too subtly against the bedding, and then he forced himself to still, to wait. He licked his lips, the movement slow and drawn out so that he didn’t have to think about anything else.

He heard Christian move and in the stillness of the room he could almost feel the air moving with him. Christian sat astride his hips, his weight heavy just below Mark’s arse, the soft material of his sweatpants a disappointment where Mark wanted to feel hot flesh. Christian’s weight shifted and then his hands were on Mark’s shoulders, massaging the tense muscles, forcing the apprehension out of him.

As Mark’s eyes slid closed with a happy little hum at the tenderness of Christian’s touch, he realised how far away his life felt from him in that moment. He’d spent so many hours laid out on physio tables, knowledgeable hands working his tired muscles, coaxing out the tension and soothing all the hurts. Christian’s touch was cleverer than all the physios he’d ever worked with and his hands knew Mark more intimately than any professional ever had. He felt like a different person now, and he couldn’t work out whether his identity had shifted for the better or worse.

Christian’s hands slipped from his shoulders and down his arms, his body sliding forwards until he could land kisses on Mark’s shoulder blades. As his fingers reached Mark’s wrists they closed around them, lifting Mark’s arms until they were up above his head. He lifted himself then, pressing Mark’s thighs further apart before kneeling in the space between them. His body folded forward again and his mouth made its way down Mark’s exposed side, lips and tongue moving sensuously over the ticklish flesh.

Christian nibbled at the swell of Mark’s arse before continuing downwards, kisses moving down the back of his thigh like they were following the imaginary line of a stocking. He licked the back of Mark’s knee, slid a hand down to circle Mark’s ankle, and Mark could feel himself opening his legs wider, pushing his hips downwards, lighting up a small friction between himself and the cushions beneath. He found it impossible to stay still.

Christian’s mouth began to move upwards again, lips dragging over the inside of Mark’s thigh, making his breath catch in his throat. A gasp escaped as Christian’s tongue darted out, following the line of the top of Mark’s thigh where it met his arse. Christian’s hands slid to his hips, pushing them down with an insistent pressure before moving back to spread his arse.

Mark groaned at the feel of being exposed, groaning again as he felt Christian’s tongue licking over his hole. It was a new sensation, something that made Mark feel shuddery and shameful, even as he hitched his hips up, asking for more. He made a tiny noise as Christian’s tongue breached him, his eyes closing tighter, his hands tightening into fists in the pillow at either side of his head. Christian worked him open, such a private and intimate act, opening up some part deep down inside Mark that he hadn’t quite realised he’d kept locked away. He gritted his teeth, wanting to rail against it, but the fight had gone out of him a long time ago now. What did he have left to hide from? It seemed pointless not giving Christian everything now, so long as he didn’t have to go through this alone.

By the time Christian was pressing a slippery finger inside him, Mark was writhing against the cushions, rubbing his cock constantly against the blankets, taking what he wanted from this and not caring about what he would be asked to give in return. He knew how premeditated this was, could feel it in every caress of Christian’s body against his own. From the shower to the lube to the almost detached way that Christian was following through on his plan, Mark could feel just how much this was about control and stripping Mark of anything that might challenge Christian’s authority. Christian hated chaos and so he was enforcing his order on Mark.

Mark’s body offered him no resistance, even if the newness of this made him clench slightly, stuck on the edge of discomfort and something wonderful. Christian added a second finger and Mark cried out, unable to call the sensation anything but _overwhelming_. He pushed up onto his knees, face and shoulders still pressed into the pillows, the new position making him feel more open, Christian’s fingers seeming to slide easier inside him. He made an appreciative noise and reached a hand upwards, attempting to take hold of his aching cock.

“Don’t do that,” Christian told him shortly.

Mark made a noise, his hand dropping away before he quite realised what he was doing. “Huh?” he managed to grunt out between laboured breaths.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Christian told him. “Don’t come. You’re not going to have an orgasm. Understand?”

Mark shook his head, rocking it back and forth on the pillow. He didn’t understand. Christian loved it when he came, when he lost control of himself and surrendered to what Christian was doing to him.

“Mark,” Christian said firmly, his voice cutting through him. “Don’t come.”

Mark nodded his agreement. Christian had clearly realised that it didn’t matter whether or not Mark understood, only that he obeyed.

Christian pressed another finger inside him and Mark let his imagination run away with him. There was only one direction Christian could be heading with all this preparation and Mark had placed himself perfectly to take it. He felt no apprehension, couldn’t even manage a sliver of embarrassment anymore. He wanted that, to be fucked, wanted the completeness of it, the finality that the act now signified in his mind. He wanted to feel Christian unravel with him, wanted a true and accurate representation of what that felt like.

He moaned, pushing back against Christian’s fingers, taking them deeper as some kind of proof that he was ready. The mental images played across his mind, Christian’s body pressed so closely to his, the feel of his heart beating from within Mark’s insides, and it made him open up further, made him want to touch his cock again. He forced his hands to remain where they were on the blankets, forced away that tingling sensation that could so easily slip over into an orgasm. He wanted to be good. He wanted to get what he deserved.

Christian continued to work him; that’s what it felt like to Mark, being worked, being played with. He was held there, teetering on the edge of an orgasm that he knew wouldn’t come, not without being able to touch himself, not without being given permission. He moaned, pushed his hips backwards, pressed his face into the pillow and tried to push away the throbbing in his cock, the urgency that coursed through his whole body. He was denying himself and the clouded, desperate part of his brain couldn’t reconcile that fact, screaming out to him to just get it done. He keened, whined in frustration, and then Christian’s fingers slipped away and Mark felt a hope lighting up in his belly, waiting for what he knew must be coming next.

A stillness seemed to fall over the room, Mark’s rasping breaths sounding obscene in the quiet. He tried to stay still, feeling his body sway slightly, needing the feeling of Christian to ground him. He felt restless and needy and so close to falling apart. A creeping unease slowly travelled up his spine as he stayed there, an offering that felt increasingly like it wasn’t going to be accepted.

He lifted his head from the pillows, looking over his shoulder to seek Christian out. He was knelt by the end of the bed, sitting back on his heels, not even looking at Mark. Mark watched him for a moment, the vacant, empty expression on his face, and then he let his body fall down sideways onto the cushions beneath him, a sinking realisation that Christian had no intentions beyond breaking him apart.

Christian turned to face him then, his eyes scanning Mark’s body but not meeting his gaze. He reached out, putting his hand on the inside of Mark’s knee and pushing his legs apart, rolling him onto his back. He pursed his lips together, looking down at Mark’s cock, curved harshly upwards and dark in colour, damp with his own precome. His hand slid up the inside of Mark’s thigh before a single finger was tracing the pulsing vein along the underside, making Mark’s whole cock jump. Mark groaned, tempted to close his legs, but instead he laid there, open and exposed, a willing participant in whatever Christian decided would happen next.

Christian’s hand slid down, three fingers slipping back inside Marks body. Mark groaned, placing his feet flat on the cushions to push back against them, hoping they were close now, though what they were getting close to he couldn’t quite imagine anymore. He thrust up against Christian’s hand, matching his rhythm as his eyes slid closed, letting himself just feel.

As Christian’s other hand wrapped around his cock, stroking harshly in a way that perfectly complemented the fingers he had inside him, Mark tipped his head back, closing his eyes and feeling it all weighing down on him so heavily, threatening to drown him. He moaned, thrusting his hips more insistently upwards, begging in the way he’d learnt without using words.

“You’re not to come,” Christian reminded him. “No matter what.”

Mark whined, pushing up his hips more adamantly as though he could somehow make Christian relent. He expected the silence that followed, the continuation of too good stimulus that was threatening to make him lose his mind. He whined again, screwing his eyes more tightly shut, hating the way his body betrayed him as he tried to stay still and just wait.

“Please,” he finally panted, feeling something break apart within him. “Please, please, please.”

“The terms are non-negotiable,” Christian told him.

Something about the business-like wording, the controlled almost disinterested tone of voice, made Mark let out a sob, trying not to wonder at how turned on it made him feel. His need was like a physical sensation now, something crawling over his skin, stripping away the layers. He could feel it churning away inside him, the biting point upon him, and he couldn’t do a thing to hold himself back. Just when he thought he was about to hurtle over the edge, Christian’s fingers gripped harshly around the base of his cock, stopping his orgasm in its tracks and forcing it to retreat somewhere deep down inside him.

His eyes stung with unshed tears as the tightness in his body refused to snap, instead winding up until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel, wasn’t even sure if he was real or not. Christian’s fingers slid out of him and, as Mark’s breaths began to slow, the hand wrapped around his cock released, leaving him throbbing, hard, but unable to come, not now that everything had been taken away from him. He opened his eyes, looking down his body, his dick sore and glistening and still so desperate and unfulfilled.

Christian fell down onto the cushions beside him, forcing himself into the small space between Mark and one of the sofas. Mark shifted to give him space, his body feeling sore and too sensitive. He reached for his blanket, pulling it up over his naked body as he curled up on his side, refusing to try and make sense of what had happened. If he just accepted it then everything started to hurt a lot less.

He woke at some point in the night, Christian’s hand wrapped around his cock, hard again embarrassingly quickly from so little attention. Mark made a disgruntled noise, trying to shift away, his cock feeling tender and raw. Christian moved in closer, his clothed front pressing against Mark’s naked back as his hand continued to play gently over his dick.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “It’s okay. You can come now. Please.”

Mark pressed back against him, his hand reaching up to stroke along Christian’s forearm. He groaned gently, wincing slightly at the feel of Christian’s hand as he wrapped his fingers around Christian’s wrist, pulling the hand away and bringing it up to his mouth. He licked wetly at each of the fingers in turn, sucking them into his mouth, before he spat in the palm of Christian’s hand, letting go with a little shove downwards. Christian took the hint, wrapping his wet hand back around Mark’s cock, the reduction in friction making the sensation melt back into something much more pleasant. He groaned appreciatively, thrusting gently into Christian’s fist, letting the steady rhythm finally bring him off.

“What was that?” he asked, Christian’s sticky hand still resting against his abdomen like he didn’t have the energy to move it, wipe it clean.

“I was just checking something,” Christian replied.

Mark shifted, getting himself more comfortable. “Did I pass?”

“Yeah,” Christian breathed, the words tickling the back of Mark’s neck. “I’m not so sure I did.” He placed a kiss just below Mark’s hairline, holding him a little closer.

 

_Teasing_

Mark stared at the ceiling while he waited for Christian to join him in bed. He tapped his fingers restlessly against his stomach, listening as Christian’s bare feet padded across the cold tile floor of the changing room. With a sigh, Christian dropped down onto the cushions beside him, adjusting himself until he was beneath the blanket, body angled slightly towards Mark.

“I want to say something,” Mark declared. “Ask something.” He thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “Say something.”

“Okay,” Christian invited, rolling onto his side so that he was fully facing Mark.

“Two things,” Mark corrected.

Christian nodded. “Two things,” he agreed.

Mark pressed his lips together and then he licked over them, glad that Christian couldn’t make out the subtleties of his expression in the dimness of the emergency lighting. Not that it mattered, he realised. Christian didn’t need to see him, didn’t even need to be in the same room as him, to know exactly what he was thinking.

“I want to go outside,” he stated, glad that his voice didn’t waver, even as it sounded weak and almost questioning. “And I want you to fuck me.”

Christian was silent. Mark wondered at the ineloquence of his words, running them over and over in his head. He wondered if he should expand on them, clarify, but he knew it was unnecessary. They’d moved past words a long time ago.

“Now?” Christian finally asked.

Mark turned his head to look at him. “Which one?”

“We’re not going outside at night, Mark,” Christian stated in a perfectly straightforward tone.

“Oh,” Mark responded, realisation making something start to unfurl within him. “Then, yeah. Now. Whenever.”

Christian nodded and got up from the bed. Mark squinted at his shadowy form as he made his way over to the counter, opening up one of the drawers. He came back over and Mark knew without having to see what he had in his hand. He pushed the blanket away from his body, sitting up to pull his T-shirt over his head.

“Do you have a preference?” Christian asked.

This wasn’t how it had happened in Mark’s head. All the times that he’d thought about this, Christian had been in total control, taking what he wanted, guiding Mark through it. Mark swallowed now, offering a shrug, leaning up on his elbows and feeling suddenly cold. Christian took off his own T-shirt and then he pulled down his sweatpants, sitting on the bed naked. Mark lifted his hips from the bed and shoved his own pants down, kicking them from his feet and then laying himself back, legs slightly apart, waiting.

Christian moved towards him, easing Mark’s legs further open and kneeling between them. He looked right there somehow, as if it was where he belonged. His slick fingers found Mark’s opening, one of them pushing slowly inside. Mark keened, angling his hips upwards as he closed his eyes, letting himself just feel. Christian knew his body by now, the way it reacted, learning quickly in the handful of times they’d done this just how much he could take and just how quickly his body would let him take it. It had always been a tease before now though, an incomplete act that had left Mark wanting, even after he’d come. He felt a giddy kind of anticipation this time though, knowing that finally they would see this through.

When Christian finally laid himself over Mark’s body, when he lifted Mark’s knees up towards his chest, spreading him open, Mark opened his eyes, seeking Christian out in the dim and haunting light. Christian looked at him, hesitating for a moment. Mark tried to make his face open, his expression inviting, even as the desperation and fear started to close in around him. He couldn’t take it if Christian shut him out now, if he turned around and ran. Christian stared down, his mouth twisting ever so slightly, and then he finally shifted forwards, his cock pushing deep inside Mark’s body.

Mark gasped, not at the sensation so much as what it represented. There was something so real about this moment, something honest and vital and inescapable. It made Mark feel human and he felt as far away from disappearing as he had for a very long time.

Christian dipped his head, brushing his lips against Mark’s. Mark made a noise in his throat, high and needy, craning from the pillow to connect with him again, the simple movement so strangely life affirming.

“Thank you,” Christian whispered.

Mark sighed, opening his eyes. “For?”

Christian shook his head. “Don’t think,” he told Mark softly. “Don’t ever think.”

He shifted his hips, pulling his cock almost all the way out of Mark’s body before giving a single solid thrust and burying himself again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mark gasped out.

Christian nodded his head, brushing his lips against Mark’s again, a kiss that wasn’t really a kiss at all. He started to move, the friction of each firm thrust making something dissolve inside Mark until everything disappeared except this.

 

_Sebastian Vettel_

Mark towelled himself dry and then pulled his underwear on followed by his jeans, two items he hadn’t worn in a very long time. He put the clean T-shirt on next, followed by a Red Bull hoodie.

In the lounge, Christian was sat on the small table, busy and focussed. Mark didn’t disturb him. He sat down on one of the sofas, his feet on their bed as he put his trainers on, lacing them up. He stood, heading over to the counter and picking up the various tools, still so shiny and clean. Their makeshift weapons hadn’t been used yet. He fumbled with them, working out how best to attach them to himself, sliding them through his belt and moving his hips to see if they’d stay.

When he was done, his eyes slid to the dry erase board. He picked up the pen, adding another line. Forty.

“It’s not the end of the day,” Christian pointed out.

“It’s how many days we survived,” Mark told him. He replaced the pen and then looked over to Christian. “I’m counting today.”

Christian nodded, accepting his reasoning, and got to his feet. Mark watched as he walked over to the counter, examining the various bits of metal for himself. They all had careful purposes once, roles in building a race car; now they were just heavy objects that could be used for killing, if it came down to it. _If._ The word echoed around Mark’s head. There was no hope in it.

“I have to go do something,” he said.

Christian looked up at him. There was a question on his lips but he didn’t ask. Instead, he just nodded.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby,” Mark told him.

He headed down the hall and up the stairs, closing the door to the boardroom behind him. His heart was beating rapidly as he waited for his phone to power up. It was a sunny day and the air looked clear outside the window, but Milton Keynes looked further away than ever.

“I know that you’re dead,” Mark proclaimed, imparting the words to Seb’s answerphone as if they were some kind of secret. “That might have meant something once. Maybe it still does. Everyone’s dead though, mate. Nothing left, is there? It feels empty not being able to mourn.”

He sat on the edge of the table, staring down at the carpet. “I hope that it didn’t hurt,” he stated. “Too much,” he added and then hated himself for it. He squeezed his eyes shut. “You were the last person I saw, other than Christian, but Christian’s still here. Weird how the human mind works though. I can’t get you out of my head. Maybe it’s because we said goodbye. I keep wondering what I would have said if I knew what was going to happen, but I don’t think I would have said anything. I’m a fucking coward and maybe I never even liked you that much to begin with. But you were the last person I saw alive, the last person that I knew. That doesn’t make me responsible. Why the fuck am I even saying this to you?”

He took a deep breath and opened up his eyes, looking out of the window. “We’re going outside,” he said. “I can’t die with stale air in my lungs. I know there’s nothing out there. I know we won’t come back.”

He got to his feet, leaning against the cool glass of the window. “We made a deal a long time ago. Me and Christian. We go together. So together we go.”

He closed his eyes. “Goodbye, mate,” he whispered. “Maybe I’ll see you soon.”


End file.
